


roman holiday

by carminnat



Category: Uncharted (Video Games), Uncharted 4 - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Gender-neutral Reader, One Shot, Reader-Insert, Stargazing, Teen Romance, Teen Sam, Tumblr Prompt, You knowww, slight angst, teen characters, teenage shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 07:47:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9113401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carminnat/pseuds/carminnat
Summary: "And we know that we're headstrong, and our heart's gone, and the timing's never right. But for now, let's get away on a Roman holiday."Or a late night escapade, simply just to forget about what is behind us.





	

It’s 12:42 AM when the familiar rhythmic knocks are tapped on your bedroom window. You hadn’t been asleep; just perched on your bed, book on your knees pulled to your chest. But you move toward the window, biting down on your lower lip in attempt at containing your smile.

Sam is crouched on the fire-escape, flashing you his lopsided grin. He prods you on with him with a tilt of his head toward the direction of the street. You don’t hesitate. After you’ve tossed on a coat and slipped on a pair of shoes, you pull your window open and follow him down to his motorbike parked just by the lawn.

Nights like these have come and gone. Some nights, your head swims with thoughts. The stress of schoolwork and university. The pressure your parents uphold against you. What little time left you’d get to share with the boy you love before it would melt away into nothing but teenage memories… Somehow, he’s there to help you leave it all behind for the time being. Somehow, he’s there when you need him the most.

Tonight, when you’ve hopped on the seat of the motor behind him and wrapped your arms around his torso, he turns over his shoulder and asks, “You ready?”

You respond with a nod and a smile. 

Then the two of you drive off—to no particular destination, sure, but you don’t look back.

The pickup of the wind rouses a burst of laughter from your chest. He laughs along with you; a sound carried with the breeze and the engine and the passing cars. His laughter becomes louder when he turns at those sharp turns—the kinds he knows you hate—and your grip tightens on him.

You recall your first motorcycle ride with him. It had been halfway through the school day, and the school secretary had excused you from class at the news of your aunt’s death. It was very strange news, considering that aunt of yours had passed away ten years ago. 

Then you had thought back to one of Sam’s promises to you: “As soon as I get a bike, the first thing I’ll do is take you for a spin.”

It was no coincidence to find him leaning smugly on his new vehicle outside the school when you stepped out the main entrance. _You crazy bastard,_ you had thought immediately.

Then again, he is _your_ crazy bastard.

“So, what’ve you got planned for tonight?” you ask him when you’ve cleared from traffic and the bike has slowed, chin resting on his shoulder.

“Depends on what you wanna see first,” he answers with a grin. “We got a twenty-four hour diner up the street, an alleyway with these really cool murals, and-” He abruptly pauses mid-sentence.

“And…?” you question.

He hesitates for another second. “You’re into astronomy, right?”

Your brows furrow. “I am,” you answer. Although, in truth, your knowledge on the topic is definitively limited. “Why?”

You hardly even noticed he has pulled up to what you assume is the 24-hour diner until he bellows out exaggeratedly, “Hey, look! We’re here! Lemme tell ya now, Y/N, this place has got the best fries in town, hands down. Ha-ha, hey, that rhymed…”

You roll your eyes fondly, a smile tracing on your lips.

He does turn out to be right, however. The fries, the shakes—they’re probably the best you’ve tasted. But as with every meal you’ve shared with Sam, it takes quite a lot to convince him to split the bill evenly. He’s always kept strong to his words “I’m a gentleman, Y/N. Let me be a gentleman.” (Or, at least, he thinks he has.) You’re not oblivious to what state he is currently in. You know that he has been jumping back and forth between his job at the garage and rather dangerous tips that included breaking and entering, pickpocketing, and overall thieving. Tips that have already landed him a few stints on record. 

You know exactly why he does it. Although he’s made quite the name for himself in town, there is no gain in reputation. It’s the boy at St. Francis’s whom you’ve grown to care and love like a little brother of your own.

So you always insist you pay for stuff like this. A meal, a movie ticket, whatever. Sam never has much to argue, but he _is_ stubborn as hell.

“Fine. Half?” he would offer.

“Half,” you would agree.

You both leave the diner, bidding the kind waitress and tender at the counter a goodnight. Sam wraps an arm around your shoulders as you step outside, pulling you close against him.

“Ah, the travesty of being broke,” he announces through a sigh. “See, if I was a millionaire, I’d buy you fries and shakes every night.”

You giggle. “Is that right?”

He nods. “Mmhmm. Every night.”

You smile and tilt your head up to kiss his cheek. “Some people would much rather be showered in diamonds, you know,” you point out.

He hums and looks down at you. “And would _you_ want that?”

“Pfft, of course I would,” you say. “ _Plus_ the fries.”

Sam laughs and leads you across the street. “Okay—off to our next stop of the night.”

After another block or so, you both make a turn into a broad alleyway, painted walls given an orange hue by streetlights but still breathtakingly colourful.

“Whoa,” you breathe, releasing yourself from Sam’s grip on you and peering at the articulate mural on the building next to you. It’s all swirls, but they’re coloured in various shades of pink and purple. 

Sam approaches next to you. “Snobby rich people would be trying to decipher the context behind this painting if it were in a gallery of some sort.”

You chuckle. “The sad truth of materialism,” you say. “What if whoever painted this didn’t even have a specific meaning in mind? What if he was just stoned and was staring at the sky for a while before he had this euphoric motivation to paint what he saw somewhere?”

Sam pauses. “That’s...actually a good point.”

You smile at him as you continue down the alley. You stop at the painting on the next building. It features the Boston city skyline, distorted faces on the forefront wearing expressions you can’t quite make out.

“Huh,” you say. “Now _this_ probably has some deep meaning to it.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Sam says. He stands a little further behind you, seemingly trying to observe the painting from a distance. “What do you think it is?”

“I think…” you begin, not actually sure where to start. You step backward, side by side with Sam. “Hmm. Okay, well, I think that this painting is supposed to represent the harsh reality of city living.” You point to the distorted faces. “Some people are fortunate, but they’re unhappy. Some people are less fortunate, and they’re a lot happier.”

You look at Sam. He remains silent as he continues to eye the mural. Then after another second or two, he turns to meet your eyes. 

“That’s a goddamn brilliant observation,” he tells you.

You smile, bowing your head.

The two of you continue down the alleyway of graffiti murals. You exchange each of your observations on each painting, some silly and some impressively (pretentiously) insightful. When you’ve finished, you are both coming down from a high of laughter after Sam’s last observation. 

“All right,” he says, leading you back to his bike. “We got one more stop to go.”

You drive off in a direction further from the city. You’re a little curious as to where he’s taking you, as the streets become quiet and clear. He parks outside a warehouse that you find out is near the garage in which he works. 

You follow him off the motor and around the side of the warehouse. “Remember that observatory downtown you told me about?” Sam asks.

“Yeah?”

“Well,” he says with a slight grunt, hopping atop the attached shed, “I thought about taking you there, but then I figured there’d be a place with a better view of the stars. No one else around us; just you and me.”

You grin up at him as you approach the shed. “How romantic.”

He grins back, lowering a hand to you. You take it and he pulls you up along with him. The two of you continue up the building until you’ve reached the rooftop.

Indeed, you are given a very broad view of the sky—the stars, the moon, the city in the a distance, the lights of the bridge. Sam nudges you gently. “So what do ya think?”

“Very impressive,” you say. “Tasteful.”

He chuckles, gesturing you with him at the edge of the roof. You take a seat next to him, humming contentedly. “All right, Morgan,” you say. “Dazzle me with your astronomical knowledge.”

He takes a deep intake of breath. “Okay, well,” he begins, leaning in closer, arm around you. He points to the distance, drawing out a constellation of what you presume is a ladle. “See it? That, over there, is the Little Dipper.”

“Ah,” you say. “What else is there?”

He points out to you Sagittarius, Scorpio, and Cygnus, before finalizing by admitting with a defeated smile, “Yeah, that’s all I got for ya. Sorry to disappoint.”

You shake your head with a chuckle, resting your hand on his. “You didn’t,” you assure. “I don’t even know much about this stuff.”

He adjusts his hand so he’s holding yours. “Now you do.”

“Exactly.”

“If you want me to educate you on anything, it’s…”

“Lost historical fleets,” you list for him with a smile, “famous voyagers from the sixteenth century, etcetera.”

He laughs again. “You make it sound like I bore ya.”

“You don’t,” you say, squeezing his fingers. “Don’t worry, Sam. It’s all very fascinating.”

He sighs and presses a kiss to your temple. “I hope you’re bein’ honest.”

You lean into him. “When have I ever lied to you?”

He suddenly deadpans. If either of you were to answer, you both know it would be “Never.” It’s always been a sort of unspoken promise between the two of you to be straightforward and earnest with one another. You’ve certainly kept up your side of the deal; you know, not only for his silence, that he hasn’t. And you have caught him in the act: red-handed, lying, being some place he shouldn’t. His more questionable traits, you’d call them. But his heart of gold has always steered you away from distrust.

Yes, it does bother you to an extent that he doesn’t tell you as much as you tell him. If he is to open up to you, he is always sure that he keeps it to a minimum. Then, he backtracks and changes the topic of conversation as a whole. You almost let him think you are oblivious to what’s going on in his mind. It’s pretty damn obvious whenever there _is_ something bugging him.

You often wonder how the hell Sam manages to do it all. He’s just a _boy,_ and yet he has grown up significantly faster than you, or anyone else your age, for that matter. You worry about what happens after high school, and there he is, worrying about not only _his_ future but his little brother’s future, too. 

You look at him now. His eyes are alight—they always are, but the bags underneath signal the fact that he has gone restless for God knows how long. He stares into the distance, still deep in thought. There are no jests nor quips on the tip of his tongue.

“Sam,” you call out softly. He averts his stare to you, dropping at the sight of the frown on your lips. “What are you not telling me?”

He blinks, removing his arm from around you and moving away. “Nothing.”

You huff sharply. “Don’t do that,” you say.  “It’s not fair, you know that? You don’t always have to be the one to listen. I’m here, too. Whatever you need to say, I’m here.” 

“And what if you’re not?” Sam questions under his breath. 

You manage to catch it anyway, but you’re stunned to hear it. “What?”

“Goddamn it, Y/N. I…” He tears his gaze away from you, sighing deeply and running a hand frustratedly through his messy hair. “The first ten years of my life I thought I’d be like every other kid. Then one day, I come home from school to find my mom dead on the floor of her bedroom. Then my coward of a dad left us, and I swore to myself I wouldn’t let Nathan live without someone to be there at his side every step of the way…”

His voice falters, and he shuts his eyes, taking another deep breath. When he speaks again, his tone is softer. Broken. “No one in my life sticks around,” he tells you, looking down. “You’ve got a huge future ahead of you. God knows where your life is gonna go in a few years, but it probably won’t be with me.” He lets out a humourless laugh.

“Sam…” you start in a whisper, though you’re unsure of what else to say.

He meets your eyes, his smile unlike the smug or genuine kind he usually gives you. “It’s the truth. You know that.”

You shake your head, attempting to shorten the distance between the two of you again. “I don’t know where you get the idea that I’d be off somewhere so big and grand that I’d leave you behind,” you say, reaching for his hand again. He doesn’t move it away; instead, he grabs your hand, and begins tracing the lines of your palm. You can tell he is still listening, however. “You know how scared I am for what’s gonna happen.”

He chuckles bittersweetly. “And I know that you’re gonna do great things.”

You reach for his cheek with your free hand, forcing his eyes on yours again. “How are you so sure that you’re not?”

He becomes silent again. He leans further into your touch, however, and after another second you decide to let the silence envelope you for a bit. He pulls you against him, his arm returning around you. You rest your head on his shoulder, brushing your thumb over his knuckles as you analyze the constellations he had pointed out to you.

Despite the edge tinged into it, you are grateful that he had opened up to you. His fears for the future have never come across into any of your previous conversations during nighttime getaways. You are definitely touched by the fact that he’s thought about a future with you, but him alluding to the fact that you don’t have one with him? That does bother you.

You try not to dwell on it. That is the purpose of these late night escapades, after all—just to leave it all behind for a little while.

“If you were a millionaire,” he suddenly speaks up after a moment as if reading your mind, and you realize he’s reflecting on the conversation you had back at the diner, “what would you do?”

A smile traces back on your lips. “I would travel,” you say, though you know it’s no mystery to him by now. “I’d see the world and explore… Because exploring Boston just isn’t enough, you know?”

Sam laughs. “Oh, I know,” he says. “Hey, maybe I could come with you. Maybe take Nathan along with us, too. We’d see the world and explore together.”

You laugh along with him. “Sure,” you say. “Maybe we could find those lost historical fleets you keep mentioning.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

The two of you stay up there for a little while longer. You are unsure of what time it is, but eventually Sam says he should probably take you home so you can get some rest. You don’t argue, mostly because you do indeed feel a little tired, but you are wide awake the entire ride home. 

It’s a reminder of what could happen if time would slow down to a stop. You tighten your grip around his torso, shutting your eyes as you lean forward, resting your head between his shoulder blades. It’s no sign of fright, but perhaps a reassurance that he’s there, that he’s real; that _this_ is real.

You’ve become persistent. You’ve become driven by the meager time you know you have together. Two kids doing what two kids do: fearing for the future, but focused on the present.

It’s what you do best.


End file.
